


Thunderstorm

by Wrathofscribbles



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-13
Updated: 2019-03-13
Packaged: 2019-11-16 15:52:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18097415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wrathofscribbles/pseuds/Wrathofscribbles
Summary: Ignis, Noctis finds, is a bit... odd.





	Thunderstorm

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Fangirlingintensifies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fangirlingintensifies/gifts).



> **Big bold reminder that Final Fantasy XV and all of its content is property of Square Enix.** I just like to play in the sandpit they've created for the fans.
> 
> So I remembered a ghost AU I had plans for 2 years ago but never got around to writing anything for. Thought I might as well fix that lol

Ignis, Noctis finds, is a bit... odd.

Not in the "a place for every thing and every thing in its place" kind of way, because he's used to that with Prompto and his photography gear.  Not in the "I have a set schedule broken into half hourly chunks that I'll stick to or Astrals help me  _someone is gonna die"_ way, either.  He runs into that and all its issues with Gladio  _all the time_ , every outing meticulously planned and food availability (and quality) accounted for.  He only has pizza once a month, and only if he's made it himself.  Pizza!  Once a  _month!_ The insanity of a fitness career.  Noctis doesn't see the appeal.

Then there's his Dad and the collection of board games gathering dust in his loft, never diminishing and steadily multiplying.  Oh, and there's that one nut in the family tree.  Ardyn.  And his obsession with creative ways to die.  Dead before he could get his notes mass produced and haunting his every descendant to bemoan the indignity of a death dealt by falling off his chocobo.

_"There was no flare to it, my boy!  No_ spectacle!  _No way to delight and horrify the masses!"_   He cries, right on cue, slouched in Noctis's favourite armchair and pouting because, apparently, there's nothing better to do in the afterlife.

No, Ignis isn't quite on Ardyn's level of  _odd_ either, even though they're both dead.  But hearing him say, quite seriously,  _"there's a thunderstorm coming, I can feel it in my bones"_ when he's a  _ghost?_ Yeah.  It's... weird.  And he'll just have to forgive Noctis the spray of coffee as he hacks up his last mouthful, caught between laughing himself silly and screaming because what the fuck even  _is_ his life now?  Sharing a house with a ghost boyfriend and some crackpot from the start of his bloodline too spiteful to lie down six feet under and  _stay down_.

Ignis scowls at him, phantom fingers plucking phantom glasses from his face, cleaning them with a phantom cloth even though he's immaculate as always, and gives a weary sigh of  _"really, Noct?"_

Ever the dramatic bastard.

But Noctis wouldn't change him for the world.  Even if he  _does_ keep moving his socks out of the organised chaos he can track them down in, every time, without fail, no help needed, perfectly fine on his own.   _Most_ of the time.

"How can you even  _tell?"_

"Because my body rests out there somewhere, and my bones feel the rain coming in.  It's quite pleasant, actually.  Without the trouble of getting wet."

"Weirdo."

"Says the man conversing with a ghost."

"An attractive one, though.  Can you blame me?"

And  _that_ , he's pleased to note, earns him a silvery blush.

* * *

Ignis, Noctis finds, is a bit odd.  And a bit  _dead_.  But he loves him anyway.

 


End file.
